And in her arms he'd kill the Maker, each time, a little more
by SonataForMyOverdosedLover
Summary: A collection of moments, words, gestures, glances and touches. In order to write a story you need a strong beginning, a happy middle, and a memorable ending. They couldn't agree on a beginning, there was no middle way for either of them, and they would not accept an end. Theirs was a story they would rather keep to their longing fingers and their craving mouths.
1. Codex 1

_When they first met in Haven he had not yet seen the vast desert of Orlais. _

_He had only read of the cold emptiness and of the sensation of abandon that travelers could fall prey to. _

_And yet, when she stepped into the room every written word made sense to him. _

_She felt endless, unyielding and arid._

_When they first met he had not felt the growing thirst; _

_and by the time he did, it was too late to find his way out of her desert._

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><p><strong>Codex 1: there is shelter in the desert, there is thirst, and then the lion...<strong>

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><p>The warm flicker of the candle was almost tauntingly casting a light over the worn-out but once carefully drawn letters of the map, circling a place he longed to forget. Being away from Kirkwall was a blessing and he was feeling guilt at his own thoughts. The world was on the verge of chaos and he was guided only by the acknowledgement of having a purpose. He loved this world greatly and he was willing to do whatever it took to see it saved. While Leliana was drawing strength from her worry and righteous concern and Lady Montilyet's words were sharpened by the fear of seeing the entire world succumb to despair and death he couldn't see any further than the closing of the breach. He was ready to throw everything he had into this fight and into the position with which the Seeker Cassandra had entitled him because that was all he had. His will to fight and purpose had started and would probably end with the newly declared Inquisition. What came after, as long as they were successful, was of little importance in his eyes.<p>

The stifled and continuous scratching of Josephine's quill on the paper kept him trapped in the world of his thoughts but the sound of her repetitive voice, now louder than he had been used to brought the man's attention back to the two women in the room. If she addressed him, she had not the patience to wait for an answer as the Antivan was now continuing her discussion with Leliana.

"Cassandra should be here soon." The woman paused. "Leliana, how is she? I haven't properly met her yet. I mean... she has been offered a cabin down the hill in Haven and I don't think I ever saw her in the Chantry…. Unless, you know... you count the time she was imprisoned in the cells."

The Spymaster let out a soft chuckle, so misplaced for people who didn't know her or for people who are not Josephine.

"She's… resourceful." Then the smallest frown appeared on her face. "if not problematically stubborn. I am not sure whether she is not fond of the concept of conversation or just picky about the subject. She doesn't exactly help her case with words. Thankfully her actions are louder than her voice."

Josephine did not raise her eyes from her papers.

"That is the Trevelyan upbringing, I am convinced."

"That reminds me, Josephine; have you managed to confirm her story with the information that I gave you?"

"Oh, yes, that was very helpful. She is of Trevelyan blood and not only that. Their family is quite numerous - with the Free Marches nobility considering power to be in numbers and all that. She is in all aspects Lady Trevelyan, the youngest in the main branch of the family."

"If anything her name should carry weight in your negotiations. The Trevelyans have always been praised for their piety and dedication to the Chantry. That should count for something when they consider the Inquisition."

Cullen looked up from the table for the first time.

"They have always made honorable Templars. During my training the recruits used to tell stories about Elijah Trevelyan. His deeds before his fall in the fight against abominations were admired by all of us who were still young. What happened to him was very unfortunate. And the stories that came after… did him and his family no justice. Regardless, this is a good card we have on our side."

The Antivan put her quill away and eyed them carefully.

"Elijah was Lady Trevelyan's older brother. They were Bann Trevelyan's only children."

"Bann Trevelyan? As in Manic Gregor?" Leliana narrowed her eyes. "She is Manic Gregor's daughter?" She repeated now, not bothered to hide her sincere surprise.

"Can you really blame the man? His wife died leaving him with only two progenies and he lost his only son as well, the future of his name; it must have played a number on his mind."

"I heard he was a bit touched even before that."

"Regardless," she continued, disapproving of Leliana's attitude "this makes it a bit more complicated. If she would have been of a less prominent branch of the Trevelyan, our pass with the Chantry could have been easier."

Cullen was considering the woman's words but the chatter in the room was interrupted when the heavy door was pushed out of position and the Seeker's figure stepped through the frame, followed closely by the person whose name was on everyone's lips. Like Josephine, he had not seen much of the woman. The only other time he had caught a sight of her was as their prisoner; when Cassandra brought her in she was unconscious and thrown in prison immediately, with the apostate elf making sure that she was not going to die before answering their questions. As she was being restrained in her cell he took in the poor state in which the woman was and had his doubts about her involvement in the death of the Divine. No one plans something so big just to risk their life as well in the process. Unlike Cassandra, who was more trustful of the woman after she had miraculously stopped the breach from swallowing them all, he was becoming considerably more careful around her. Questions of practical importance were creating more doubts than confidence. If she was of noble birth her attire had not spoken of it. Wearing a mercenary's tunic and fashioned after a commoner's needs – this was not a way in which a noble would have presented themselves at such an important event.

Their paths had not crossed until earlier that same day. They had lost a lot of men when they fought their way to the breach and he had prayed that those lives were not in vain. He had not met Cassandra on the roads and he found that rather surprising. It was unlike the Seeker to venture through the mines in the mountains instead of taking a direct approach. And that was his second doubt. Regardless, it was a small battle that they had won and that changed their morale. The fact that Cassandra and Leliana had managed to convince the woman to stay in the inquisition was definitely working in their advantage. The people from Haven had gone, in a matter of days, from wanting nothing more than to kill the woman (his men had reported at least two attempts on her life while in prison) to calling her a gift from the Maker. And the fact that Cassandra was also smitten with her presence was giving him both hope and more doubts. If being a Templar had taught him anything it was that blind fate without questioning only ended in disaster. And he looked up, into her eyes, considering how rigid and impenetrable they were for someone who was expected to be the messenger of Andraste herself.

Cassandra closed the door and then turned to the table, acknowledging them and doing the formal introductions for the first time. He studied her – her sharp featured and angular face was not directed at them, but on the map unfolded in front of them. He had been too quick in calling her expression rigid – her eyes were prying as they traveled across Ferelden. Unlike Leliana, whose stare could express cutting interest, if the woman was searching for something, or if she was simply scouting aimlessly, it was completely unreadable. And yet she was paying attention. When Cassandra was done, she glanced up at them, stopping on Josephine.

"Impressive titles for a force barely born."

She watched in silence how the pressure of their precarious situation was talking a toll on them and disagreements were heavy and dense enough to be cut with a blade. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling that she was gaining satisfaction from their difficulties concerning the degree of involvement that the Templars or the Mages should have in the Inquisition. But her interest was short as she returned her focus to the map.

He was expecting a reaction from the woman when Josephine mentioned the unfavorable spot in which the Chantry was putting her but all that escaped her lips was a pertinent, if not an amused remark.

"That didn't take long. I had no idea I was any concern of theirs."

The fever of the topic was getting the best of him.

"Shouldn't they be busy arguing over who's going to become Divine?"

Josephine dismissed him, her interest in the woman strongly visible.

"Some are calling you the 'Herald of Andraste', and that frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you. This affects us greatly; it limits our options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question."

Something in Josephine's words triggered a readable reaction from the woman as she looked up completely for the first time, cutting the Ambassador's words.

"Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?"

Cassandra lost not a breath in explaining the consequences of her actions and Cullen felt the passion in her voice. He leaned more heavily on the hilt of his sword as he noticed disapproval strongly gripping the woman's features.

"It's quite the title isn't it? How do you feel about that?"

She narrowed her amber eyes and glared his way almost as if insulted. Her dark lips barely parted when she let out the low hiss.

"I am no herald of anything; particularity not Andraste."

That sudden burst of attitude took everyone by surprise and he noticed it in the way their bodies tensed. Unexpectedly, the easiness with which he reacted felt almost like betrayal to his better judgment.

"I am sure that the Chantry would agree."

As Leliana got carried away with the importance of this newly acquired title, Cullen stood his ground under the herald's piercing stare. She took his question as a personal offence and was not hiding it. He felt that if he were to look away he'd lose authority in front of the noble. Peculiarly enough he was relieved at the thought of the woman in front of him not feeling comfortable with the title of prophet. He was however aware of his true emotions and insecurities when he focused on the strong grip he had on his sword, masked only by the thick glove.

He had grown up with descriptions and chants of Andraste – of her delicate and feminine presence; of her soft yet endless strength; her fair presence, her kind and honest eyes and her righteous, unshakable appearance. The woman in front of him had nothing from that. There was no kindness in her eyes and nothing delicate in the way she was bearing herself. She was tall and if anything she was impressive. If she could inspire anything in a man that would be fear and doubt. Her high and sharp cheekbones were adding a menacing feeling and her two scars were almost lost on her complexion, yet hard to miss if you'd focus on her full lips. The coldness and indifference of the nobles were present in her features but her statuesque and grounded figure told the story of a trained and world-witted person. She was a memorable sight in the most predatory sense. If she truly was a messenger of Andraste, unholy as his thoughts might be, the Maker must have had a twisted sense of humour.

She turned away her attention when Leliana mentioned Mother Giselle and her intentions to talk to her.

"Why would someone from the Chantry offer their help? I though we already agreed they are not exactly fond of my existence."

"Not everyone shares the same opinion. And if there is even a chance of gaining a favor from one of the two parties…"

"You suspect this could be a trap?" Cassandra voiced the concern behind the woman's question. After a moment of consideration however, she shrugged it off.

"I guess as long as she does not plan on boring the life out of me with the usual Chantry bullshit, it's worth seeing what she has to say."

"That is a rather… uncommon opinion about the clerics from a member of the Trevelyan family." Josephine was the one to put into words the cause of their tension. It was true. They had not counted on a rather hostile attitude from the 'herald' regarding the Chantry.

The woman glanced at the Antivan.

"If you were expecting piteous dedication and constant praising of the Maker, you are looking at the wrong Trevelyan. I am afraid you have drawn the shortest and unluckiest straw on this one."

Her narrow, cat-like eyes closed even more if possible as she brought her gloved hand to everyone's attention.

"I don't know what this is or how I got it. At best it's some sort of magic. What if an elf, or better yet, a qunari had stepped out of the Fade instead of me? Would you have called them 'herald of Andraste' as well?"

Cassandra frowned. "There is no point in debating that, is it? You were the one who returned and our soldiers have seen a female figure guiding you from behind. I also know what I heard at the ruins of the Conclave. While I might not trust your intentions I trust myself – what I heard and witnessed."

"I meant no offence, Seeker." Her hand turned into a soft fist as she let it down. "However, I don't believe in your Maker and I would be grateful if you'd stop shoving him in my face. If there's anything you want to trust – trust my intentions; because as long as this stops the cancer from spreading I am with your Inquisition. But I will be doing it on my own terms… as I always have. Your God will not take credit for my work. You can tell that to the people who insist on calling me a herald." The woman stopped and watched Cassandra with calculated respect. Then her eyes softened. "If you were hoping for a believer maybe you'd have been better off with an elf or a qunari after all."

The woman approached the table and grabbed one of the wooden pieces, placing it not far from Redcliffe.

"With the Inquisition's approval, I'll go prepare for the journey to the Hinterlands. Cassandra, let me know when we're clear to depart." She stepped back.

The Seeker nodded. "In the meantime let's think of other options."

As the woman was retreating she turned one more time and looked over her shoulder at the warrior.

"Also, I am going to ask that the dwarf sticks around the Inquisition. I hope you won't mind… much. If I am going to go out there, hunting demons and whatever else I'd rather have someone with a good aim watching my back. And that crossbow is impressively accurate."

Cassandra barely suppressed her disapproval as a defeated grimace appeared on her face. With a coy grin, the woman nodded her head and stepped out of the room, leaving the four of them sharing a moment of silence.

"Well… she's definitely not what one would expect."

"I will keep an eye on her, Ambassador. She is instrumental for the Inquisition and I am not going to allow any mistakes."

The Seeker spoke with full confidence, something that Cullen couldn't share. People were always guided by something in life; but they were also tempered by their conscience or faith. Those that craved for something were hard to move but it rarely was impossible. The truly dangerous ones were the ones that lacked faith; because without faith they feared nothing; and without fear, they were unpredictable. The unpredictable could not be controlled.

The second time he had seen the woman was inside the strong walls of the Chantry, in the dim light of the candles barely keeping the shadows away. She felt like a piece that did not belong there, an institution of her own, self-governed and rough. He had spent enough time in The Free Marches to know where their pride lay. And yet she did not remind him of the people from Kirkwall. The first time he had seen her, because of her earthly complexion, he thought of Josephine. But the Antivan was lively, vivacious and radiant. Now that this woman could act and speak for herself he realized that they were nothing alike. He had never been a traveled man, and yet he heard stories of the arid desert of Orlais. The depiction of endless, empty dunes bathed in the sun, the suffocating heavy air during the day and the cold, will-freezing nights - her presence brought him back to the books he had read in his younger years on the Hissing Wastes in the Western Approach. He felt like a man lost in the vast desert and that was unnerving. When she left the room he found himself back in Haven, back to his worries and the chaos that was upon them all. For a moment, the only true thing that terrified him was the faith –shaking realization that her numbing emptiness had taken away both his fears and purpose. He couldn't allow himself that, so for the first time in years he welcomed his demons back into his mind.


	2. Codex 2: Anima

_It felt as if carved stones could express much more compared to this woman made of flesh and bones. _

_Cold as they were, the statues in the Chantry held more liveliness in their petrified forms. _

_And yet, they would in no way be able to seek the thinnest places of his faith and seed doubt, _

_the way her amber eyes have done that day._

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><p><strong>Codex 2: Anima<strong>

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><p>Mornings in Haven were cold. He didn't mind. If anything he welcomed the chilling sensation each time he'd wake up and make his way to their improvised training ground. It was terribly early and the fog had not cleared yet. He wasn't expecting much fret at that hour as Haven was just coming back to life. Sleep would abandon him too, soon. A habit he had developed in Kirkwall. But unlike Haven, his room from the City of Chains was warm and his days methodical and repetitive. His new location was austere but he felt no need for anything outside of what the place could provide. Occasionally he'd miss the taste of a better tea instead of the hot flavored water they had here but it was nothing he couldn't get used to. Coming from a numerous family, he had never asked for much in life. He used to believe good things happened to good people, and he considered himself lucky in spite of everything that he had witnessed.<p>

He stepped outside the gates, content to see that the soldiers were also waking up and clearing the snow that the wind had brought during night. After walking down the set of stoned stairs his eyes scouted the relatively deserted area around him. The stables were in poor condition, if they could be called stables at all. With no horses, the broken fence was of no immediate importance to anyone. They were in desperate need of mounts but he had no success in obtaining an agreement with that stubborn horsemaster from Redcliffe to supply the Inquisition with some of his Forders. Those damned horses would ease the travel for their parties.

Speaking of which, he was pleasantly surprised to see the Seeker stepping out from the blacksmith's workshop. She was heavily dressed in full armor and equipped with her shield and sword. As she looked up their eyes met and she greeted him with her traditional solemn nod, waiting for him to reach her.

"So early, Seeker? I did not expect to find you here."

"Yes, well, to be completely honest, I don't know how you're doing it every day. I am an early person myself but being up at this time each morning is simply ridiculous."

The man let out a breezed laughter. "You get used to it in time. Plus, mornings are kinder to me when I am not sleeping."

Her usually hard expression softened for an instant with sympathy and what could have been regret at even opening the subject. He wished she wouldn't. There was nothing regrettable about his situation.

"We're leaving for the Hinterlands soon. I'm checking on the last preparations because Maker knows what we'll find once we get there." The woman turned to look back, inside the atelier. He followed her actions and his eyes easily found the herald and Leliana among the few people sheltered under the roof. The woman was currently listening to whatever their Spymaster was explaining to her as she was fastening a belt around her hips. Her instincts were sharp as she instantly became aware that she was being watched. She looked up and out of habitude he nodded his head. The woman did not return the gesture, but held his gaze a moment longer in the most unreadable fashion.

When her attention was away he frowned. "I've seen statues in the Chantry more expressive than her."

He couldn't decide what had surprised him more: that the warrior actually found his words humorous or the fact that he had actually spoken his thoughts out loud.

"If you had seen the way she growled not moments ago at one of Harritt's apprentices you'd be more appreciative of her lack of expressions."

But they had to stop from venturing further into the subject as the woman was on her way to them, gloves and gauntlets in her hands.

"You do know you need better armor? Harritt's quite good with his crafts but lacks proper materials; a boy with a stick could probably pierce half of the things they make here."

Cassandra was well aware of it and did not enjoy being reminded.

"We're working on it."

"Cassandra, a word, please…" Leliana's voice called from inside the shelter and the woman obliged, retreating into a more private conversation with the Spymaster and leaving the two in an uneasy silence. But it very well could have been just him since the woman was more preoccupied with keeping the gauntlets under her armpit as she was slipping the gloves on. Involuntarily, he searched for her palm and caught a glimpse of the mark right before the leather could shelter it from his prying eyes. In an instant he looked away, feeling as if he had witnessed something most intimate. His actions did not escape her

"You don't have to avert your eyes; it's not going to swallow you up if you stare for too long."

He always preferred to be sincere even if that made him look foolish.

"It seemed personal."

The woman sighed a bit bored.

"It's nothing more than an accident."

"It's Andraste's mark and our only way to stop those rifts from spreading."

Her eyelids lowered heavily but she proceeded to strap the gauntlets on her arms.

"You'd say that, wouldn't you?" To him, her musing voice did not match the way she looked at him not moments ago. "Maybe I should simply cut my hand and give it to you for safekeeping since it's clearly very important."

Her mockery told him that it was time to back away from the subject before more unnecessary insults could be thrown. Antagonizing her would gain him nothing.

"Whatever it is, it is not a joke."

She continued her work without a word. He was about to move away from the matter when he saw her plum lips line in an unpleasant, almost unnoticeable smile. With that unreadable expression she looked up and watched him in silence as her hands were continuing their job blindly but efficiently. He felt his jaw clench under her scrutinizing eyes and was aware of how they traveled on his face, taking in every detail. He had never met such boldness in a person, even more so in a woman, and considered her act extremely rude and inappropriate. He knew where to place it – he had met enough nobles to recognize the lack of shame they had when invading someone's personal area of comfort. And when he thought she was simply doing it for her own amusement and judgment, the woman talked again.

"I have a curiosity."

They always did; and it was almost always followed by an insulting question. She brought her arm up and gripped one of the leather straps with her teeth, helping herself with the knot but also taking an unnecessary long time in doing so, intentionally prolonging the waiting period. She stared directly at him but he could not read anything in her amber-like eyes.

"How does a Templar walk away from The Order? I thought it was an 'until death' condition."

He thought of an immediate answer but something in her voice made him keep his guard up.

"We are not tied to the titles and it's not uncommon for a Templar to leave. As it is, there are enough reports of Templars currently deserting and abandoning the Chantry."

Her insinuating smile became even more visible as she proceeded to the other gauntlet. "But does a Templar truly stop being a Templar?"

He frowned and her smile dropped as she continued in a lower tone. "With all the lyrium pumped into their system by the Chantry, can a Templar be anything else?" she made a pause and continued with a roll of her eyes "besides… dead or a complete wreck."

He felt the taste of blood in his mouth before he could realize he had bitten into his cheek.

Her attention finally returned to her arms, tugging everything into position.

"A Templar is his trust and faith in the Maker and his purpose to the Order, not his addiction to lyrium."

"No – trust and faith usually make a Cleric, add in the lyrium and you get a fanatical army."

"You don't like the Templars very much, do you?"

"I can't sympathize, no. Why would anyone sacrifice their mind for faith in something that they can't even prove it exists, is beyond my power of understanding."

At this point he felt annoyance building up inside and sighed, looking away in an attempt to find peace in the snow covered hills. He cursed his habit when he realized that his hand had long found its way to the hilt of his sword.

"For someone who doesn't recall how she stepped out of the Fade, you are very dismissing of the idea of divine help."

She let her arms fall and turned her head so that she could look at him directly. "Food for thought – I don't owe anything to your Maker, so why should I start believing in him now?"

Whatever his thoughts were, they were wiped away by her dry words. He turned his head to mimic her intentions and immediately regretted it. Carved stones could indeed be more expressive than the woman in front of him, but they would in no way be able to seed doubt in the darkest corners of your faith.

Leliana went past them addressing the herald without even stopping.

"Please do not share any of your thoughts on this matter unless absolutely necessary. We don't want to make it easier for the Chantry to take us down."

The woman arched an eyebrow as she watched the Spymaster walk away towards the gate, greeting Solas and Varric on her way.

"I don't think she likes me."

He had to bite his tongue in order to keep his thoughts to himself.

"I guess we'll be taking our leave now that Varric finally decided to honor us with his presence." Cassandra glared at the dwarf.

"Don't talk to me Seeker. I am still sleeping until this fog clears." The fact that Varric was unhappy with the early hour was perfectly hearable in his voice. The woman decided to ignore him and Cullen caught her eyes as she addressed him.

"I hope things will not get out of hand while we are away. Is there anything else we should look into, Commander?"

The herald was also eyeing him expectedly.

"Actually there is one matter I was considering this morning. Our men in the Hinterlands have made contact with a certain Master Dennet of the Redcliffe farms. He has exemplary Fereldan Forders but is unwilling to send them to us. If you could find an agreement, it would really benefit the Inquisition."

"Horses, right. I get the whole closing rifts, fighting demons and looking for allies but I don't remember signing up for running errands as well." The indignation in her voice was almost cutting.

"None of us signed for anything that is happening right now in this world." Cullen considered how Cassandra sounded irritated by the woman's attitude, but not revolted. He did not envy her at that moment – stuck for days with Varric, of whom she did not approve, and dealing with a clearly hostile but otherwise indispensable agent, made him fully sympathize with her.

"Fine, I'll get your horses in between picking flowers for Leliana."

Cullen side-glanced the warrior but Cassandra beat him to it with a clear 'don't ask' attitude. They were actually content when the woman put her body in motion, ready to join the two men ahead of them. But she was stopped by the familiar voice of their Antivan Ambassador.

"Ser Trevelyan! Oh, what a relief that you have not departed yet!"

The herald turned around and it was instantly clear that her next words would not be kind.

"Lady Montilyet! Don't tell me, you have a request as well. Why don't you people just write down a list the next time I leave? What is it? Something you need from the Redcliffe Market? Though I rather doubt businesses are opened these days."

Cullen saw the enthusiasm slowly dying on Josephine's face, replaced by confusion and embarrassment, as her previous running transformed into an unsure walk until she could stop closer to them.

"I was actually hoping I could give you something you might find useful on your –"

" – oh." The hostility in the woman's position completely vanished as she approached her.

Still unsure, and clearly freezing as she had probably ran all the way there without considering that her usual attire was not made for the weather, she extended the wrapping in her arms and tried her best to remove the cloth.

"You remember marquis DuRellion; he left yesterday for Val Royeaux with his trading goods. He had this in his possession and I figured he wouldn't have much use of it besides selling it. After our last talk I thought it might benefit you more…" she paused as she revealed a Chevalier Dagger "in hopes that I was not too presumptuous."

If he had to describe the expression on the woman's face as she took the dagger and brought it to her eye level to analyze it, he would use the word interest; or something very similar.

Her eyes finally lightened up with appreciation. "The blade could use a bit of sharpening, but this is definitely of better quality than everything else around here."

If anything she seemed to never be short on insults. He didn't need to turn to know that Harritt had probably spit on the ground and barely held in a swear.

When she suddenly started swinging the dagger Josephine had to jump back, unprepared for the gesture.

Content, the woman grabbed one of the daggers on her back and threw the blade, sticking it perfectly vertical into the ground, replacing its spot with the new weapon. She was about to turn and leave but stopped as if remembering something.  
>It made Cullen feel uncomfortable how sudden her entire body started to speak in a language of its own; long gone was the statuesque impression when the woman grabbed Josephine's hand; cupping it gently as if it was made of glass in her own, she leaned in, so that the only distance left between their faces was enough to fit their hands. The way her eyes locked on the ambassador's and the prolonged touch of her lips as she kissed the back of her hand transformed the cordial gesture into an almost erotic display.<p>

Eventually she stepped away in a bowing fashion, keeping her eyes on Josephine a moment too long.

"Much appreciated, Lady Montilyet."

He watched her take her leave and Cassandra follow after an unnecessary shared silence.

His eyes followed the group until the road took them out of sight. Out of habitude he prayed for their safety and good news upon their return.

Only when he felt Josephine move he remembered he was not alone. He watched her slowly regain her voice.

"It's an … unusual warm day in Haven, isn't it, commander?"

She did not wait for an answer as she nodded abruptly and almost sprinted back towards the gates.

It was in fact, an extremely cold morning, but there was no need to make the ambassador feel more uncomfortable than she already was.

He preferred it that way. The cold kept him awake and focused. As his eyes roamed on the empty road he allowed his mind to travel one more time at the woman that not long ago, daringly had held his gaze. She did not belong to the cold; like Josephine, her presence in this snowy place felt too exotic and atypical. But she possessed a suffocating air which was drying him out. In the cold that reminded him of his faith she was a thirsting blasphemy


	3. codex 3: The snow her body melts

_He should have paid attention to her words _

_but he'd only remember the drops of snow caught in her hair._

_ He knew he should have objected to her claim _

_and if there was a reason of why he hadn't, now it was too late to remember._

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><p><strong>Codex 3: The snow her body melts<strong>

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><p>There was a horrible headache reigning over his senses and the never-ending conflicts were not making it any better. The quarrels between the mages and the Templars stationed in Haven were growing and clearly getting out of control. And the man in front of him was not only aware of it but also doing his best to keep the hateful fire ignited. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle but he was growing tired and impatient. He wasn't ungrateful for the aid that Mother Giselle has brought, but it wasn't enough; being still left in the dark, with more questions than answers and with a black mark still above the name of the Inquisition was affecting everyone. Fighting against the wind was not a long-term solution.<p>

He had barely cleared the gathered crowd from the gates of the chantry but Chancellor Roderick was determined to trample on his nerves further. Trying to channel out whatever the old man was about, Cullen looked past his shoulder, at the retreating men. Without control his body instantly tensed into a straighter position as he recognized the figure of the herald making her way up the hill through a group of mages. The party had returned from the Hinterlands some days ago with a plan. It was a weak plan and it had to be carefully thought out– going to Val Royeaux so soon for a direct confrontation with the Chantry was risky but what other choice did they have? He was never a man for details but it occurred to him that she was changing more and more each time they met. It was clear as day that Haven was not the sort of place where she belonged; she didn't have to put it into words for everyone to see that she did not enjoy being there; the Breach had affected and changed everyone, without a single exception. He caught himself wondering what the woman was like before all this. It was the first moment in the weeks since she was spit out by the Fade that he realized he was having expectations from her without even knowing her first name.

The way she carried her body towards the chantry reminded him of the fact that she was of noble birth. Her usual commonly braided hair was now loose from the bun and cascading in a free tail past her shoulders, the dark chestnut color contrasting on the white hunter tailcoat she was wearing. With matching elbow-lenght gloves and boots, she seemed to have made some personal requests with the nugskin they had brought from the Hinterlands. Even though white was an appropriate color for Haven, it was… pretentious.

She raised her eyes and met his only to make him realize he had been staring at her all this time. Slowly, the Chancellor's voice was slipping back to his ears and Cullen tried his best to catch up with the man's complaints. He kept checking on the approaching woman wondering if she was going to stop or continue her way past them. Her eyes rested on the back of the Chancellor and only momentarily switched to him as she was determined to ignore the scene.

"Which is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order." Cullen barely stopped from rolling his eyes in annoyance. He didn't like the man but he found himself asking if he had always been this irritating. He had never found it relevant enough to confront Roderick whenever he was barking at him but he felt an uncomfortable need to make use of his authority.

"Who, you? Random clerics who weren't important enough to be at the conclave?"

His eyes lingered a moment too long on the leathered shoulder of the woman, and the melting drops of snow tangled in her long hair. He would not look far up, only following the line of her sharp jaw as she stepped right past him.

"The rebel Inquisition and its so-called "Herald of Andraste"? I think not."

He knew that in a second she would completely disappear from his line of view but it never happened. She stopped almost behind him and he had to look past his shoulder in order to acknowledge her presence when she addressed him in a slightly bored voice.

"Remind me why you're still keeping him around?"

"Clearly your _Templar_ knows where to draw the line."

That put an unexplainable knot in his throat that she doubled by fully turning and stepping by his side, joining in the conversation. He decided to return his attention to the other man.

"He's toothless. There's no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth."

There was an unbecoming silence in which the woman refused to look anywhere else than deep into the Chancellor's soul, leaving the man prey to uncertainty. Cullen knew exactly how he must have felt. Suddenly her relaxed body thrust forward without taking a single step and a low growl escaped her throat, showing her teeth like a wild predator. Startled by the display, the Chancellor jumped back almost bringing his arms up for protection. But as quick as it started she pulled back, everything returning to normal, with only the man making a fool of himself. He continued to step backwards while trying to wash away the shame.

"Mock if you will. I'm certain the Maker is less amused."

Cullen watched the retreating man, a bit taken aback as well by the sudden act.

"What was that?"

"Just wanted to make him squeal." With a wide grin on her face, she looked at him. Being so close, he realized that she was a tall woman; he was used to lowering his eyes in order to address both Josephine and Leliana; and even Cassandra who seemed like a mountain when he was talking to her, was also of a shorter height. His insides slightly turned when his mind traveled to his former Knight-Commander Meredith. He immediately wanted to erase the thought. There was no likeliness between the two, chromatically opposed and yet… it was too late. There was a cold and calculated power in their eyes and it was revoltingly easy for him to read it when she was on the same level with him. "Didn't think it was so easy."

At least this woman in front of him hated Templars and clearly didn't have a motive strong enough to represent anything Holy, so he should relax and think no more of such resemblances.

He must have been too lost in his thoughts because the woman frowned. She sighed and stepped back, remembering that she had business somewhere else.

"Does The Order also kill one's sense of humour or is it just a special feature of yours?"

He realized how he must have looked but he couldn't find it in himself to be bothered by it. The Chancellor had already drained his desire for human interactions for the day. She indicated that she wanted him to follow her inside the chantry.

"Does it really bother you that I was a Templar?" Out of courtesy he stepped ahead, with the intentions of opening the door.

"What do you mean?" her question showed him that she had little to no investment in the topic.

"I noticed that you only stepped in after he mentioned my affiliations to the order."

She stopped and waited for him to push the door. When she looked up he knew she was going to spill out her thoughts but then something changed. Whatever she wanted to say it was not going to escape her lips anymore, and was replaced by a coy, prying attitude.

"I just thought that I should get him off _my_ Templar."

Her empty sentence reached his ears and she slipped inside the chantry, not really meaning anything by it besides ending the conversation. He hadn't even paid attention to Roderick's words until she had twisted them in an unsettling way.

After the meeting was over, the party immediately left Haven in order to avoid camping in the wilds. Only hours later did he realize that his headaches had been quiet, when they crept their way back for the rest of the day.


	4. codex 4: ὀργή

_**ὀργή** - (Greek) - anger, wrath, agitation of the soul, impulse, desire, a violent emotion, anger exhibited in punishment._

_The violence in her eyes didn't cripple him. It only gave him reason to fight back._

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><p><strong>Codex 4: ὀργή<strong>

* * *

><p>He saw red and if he had less control he would have grabbed her and pushed the woman into the cells.<p>

"Are you completely mad?!"

"Keep your distance, _Templar_!" She hissed venom through her lips.

He was mortified. It all had happened too quickly: the woman had left the apothecary and he saw a mage catching up with her. She hadn't stopped but words had been exchanged. The man was persistent and Cullen only heard him shout ironically after the 'herald' of Andraste. The moment he grabbed the woman by her elbow the street was filled with an agonizing yell of pain as the man was brought to his knees.

Cullen couldn't remember how long it took him to reach the two or even how he shoved the woman away.

"For crying out loud, you broke the man's arm!" Still with his arm at her throat he looked at the gathered crowd. "Somebody take him to a healer, don't just stand there."

At his thundering voice people started to move as awoken from a trance, either helping the man up or vanishing somewhere, probably to spread words of what they have seen. This was in no way helpful.

"Well then he's lucky that's all I got to break; didn't know mages matter this much to you."

Her words only managed to make everything worse. He did not think when he grabbed her collar.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish? Burn down everything we're working for to keep blood from spilling in Haven? There is enough hate poured on mages without the herald openly harming them. Do you even know that everyone is watching you?"

"Then make them stop! I'd be very grateful to take a piss without that awkward feeling. I told him not to touch me – twice. I take no responsibility for a thing which I am not."

His jaw clenched as the steam leaving his mouth reached her face.

"Just because you don't have a god you can't force your heresy on others. Your denial doesn't make you right!" He let it out, by the Maker, he let it out and he knew; he knew that those words were not for her but for himself. Since that morning outside Haven he had been on a slippery path of doubt and infidelity. His words, he had carefully built until this moment so that they could ground his faith. He couldn't understand that occult fear that her lack of faith had planted into his soul with her presence. Not once has his belief been shaken; not in the darkest moments in the Circle and not in the blood-colored Kirkwall. But to hear the herald, the one who was supposed to speak in the name of Andraste, denying their right to faith and hope – he would not accept it!

And he knew he won this battle. He read it in her unnatural golden eyes, how they paled, deepening the amethyst edges of her irises. She was not shocked; she was not surprised by his reaction; she chose silence, letting him know she had acknowledged him. And he was not going to ask for anything more.

She stepped out of his now light grip and let the cold air take her place. Her eyes narrowed with displeasure but she did not fight back. He stood his ground until she turned around and retreated up the road towards her cabin. People were already whispering and he feared the consequences. What would take for the woman to realize that from the moment she stepped out of the Fade her life was not her own anymore?


	5. Codex 5: the storm she brought to Haven

_She was reachable, palpable; forged from the most common flesh and bones, as he was._

_ He felt betrayed by how unexceptional and opened to mistakes she suddenly was;_

_ he felt content with how approachable she appeared; _

_he felt terrified by how cold the air seemed after she carried herself away._

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><p><strong>Codex 5: the storm she brought to Haven<strong>

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><p>He'd give anything for a wind of change. Nothing was going right at that moment and there was a limit to how much he could keep the recruits of the Inquisition motivated and in good spirits. There was no news from the party who went to investigate the events at the Redcliffe Village. They had been missing for more than a week and the fact that the herald had decided not to take Cassandra with her to meet Grand Enchanter Fiona was even more unsettling. By now, Leliana's scouts should have sent word from the Hinterlands but there was nothing at all. If Andraste was really guiding them he simply wished for the smallest sign that could make them endure.<p>

Cullen made his way through the training ground catching sight of the Seeker battling her own uncertainties on the improvised targets. He saw her freeze with her sword up in the air. Something has caused her to stop in the middle of the attack. She frowned, let her weapon down and stepped away, approaching the road.  
>Whatever had gotten her attention couldn't reach him through the high noises made by the constant clash of weapons and the sea of moving bodies. So he followed the woman just outside the training ground, on the dusty road.<p>

Then he saw it; a lone, heavy horse with no saddle or reins, walking down the snow covered path. A short neigh escaped the animal as it continued undisturbed past the blacksmith's cottage. Cassandra stepped closer cautiously and extended her hand to stop the horse. He watched her and started to wonder how it could have passed the main gates. Had the guards let it pass? The seeker patted the rich mane and looked back at Cullen, the same question clearly readable in her eyes.  
>But then he felt it; the ground vibrating under his feet followed by the thundering noise that only an army could make in their gallop. Right before he could understand what was happening an avalanche of strong, healthy Forders appeared out of the white hills that were keeping most of the road hidden to the eye. He knew that the animals were not going to stop so he acted fast, setting his body in motion.<p>

"Clear the ground! Everybody move out of the way! Step out of the training ground now!"

His men retreated to safety either inside the village or on the frozen lake. Cullen reached the steps as well, watching in awe as the animals stormed down the road. He followed the line as much as the hills allowed it and all it took to put the pieces together was the wild appearance of a rider.

He held his breath at the sight of the woman that was advancing like the wind through the horses, mercilessly gaining ground and pushing the limits of the beautiful animal that she was commanding. Her horse galloped right past him as she exhaled her orders, reaching ahead and cutting the access to the Forders any further into the woods. When they threatened to advance she pulled the horse into a powerful rear. The air was filled with the echoing neigh of the heavy animal and he knew the image of the herald – grand, strong, towering - was going to stay in the minds of all those who had witnessed it.

The animals took a turn and obeyed her yelled commands, finally cantering in circles on their improvised training grounds. Some of the tents were undoubtedly destroyed but everyone was captivated by the graceful creatures in front of them. And Cullen couldn't blame them. Dozens of strong, battle-ready Fereldan Forders were at Haven's gates and if there was any other reason why he would look away from that encouraging image it would be just to gaze at the woman responsible for all of this.

He wasn't going to use modest words to describe her when the Trevelyan noble rose to her title. Her straight back made her look unbreakable; Her piercing eyes were taking in the glorious sight she had just offered them. This was her work – the Inquisition owed her this small victory – she knew it, she was well aware of it and she did not cower from showing it.

He understood then that her current position in the Inquisition would not last. Proud spirits like her were never self-sufficient. She'd take more and more or she'd corrode their Inquisition if they couldn't keep up with her deeds. As a Templar, he was too used to the presence of a leader not to acknowledge that in her. He should feel threatened but was it really that bad to have the Herald herself display the use of power? The explosion of positive reactions was undeniable. This was what they needed... when they needed it. He caught her looking at him. Or more precisely he realized that she must have caught his eyes for quite some time and was pinning him down with interest. He couldn't help it. He smiled and only found it easier to do so when he saw a crack of confusion on her otherwise perfectly bold expression. When she nodded her head at him and returned a confident grin he found himself more amused. She would probably combust with rage if he'd tell her that she had answered his prayers. Maybe the woman had no faith in the Maker but it seemed that Andraste had faith in her. She tugged the reins of the horse gently and made it canter his way. She stopped right in front of Cullen and turned the animal so that she could look down at him. Her pleased grin made him take notice for the first time of the tauntingly positioned mole, trapped between the corner of her lower lip and the vertical scar crossing the left of her mouth. The woman crossed her forearms and leaned forward on the horse, her braided hair falling heavily past her shoulder.

"Are these horses good enough for you, Commander?" She asked smugly, knowing exactly that the animals were past everyone's expectations.

"They are an invaluable acquisition for the Inquisition." He decided not to play her game.

She straightened in the saddle and looked up the road.

"Good! Because I took them from right under the nose of the King of Ferelden." Her head darted back at him. "And I am planning on claiming his mages soon as well."

He frowned and would have questioned her, but he was cut short when she suddenly extended her hand, expectantly staring at him, waiting for him to help her down from the horse.

He had no doubt that she was more than capable of dismounting on her own, especially after that display. She made little sense to him. The antics of this woman had nothing to do with her noble title. Cassandra was of royal blood herself, higher in both title and power, and yet she would feel insulted if he were to offer her help in this sort of situation.

He could only think of a petty game. When he did not answer to her clear attempt at a quarrel she must have taken it personally and was now looking for ways to antagonize him. She enjoyed her current position, looking down at him. But he was in a good mood and her outburst of superiority left him indifferent. He was determined not to play her game and so he took her hand. What did bother him was his lack of protest. On the long run, he could recognize the horrible habit that he had developed as a Templar – he almost hated himself for taking orders without questioning them and he realized his mistake when a knowing grin adorned her face. _Templars are Chantry-trained dogs_ he heard her say once to Cassandra. She had had the audacity of wording that in the middle of the training ground, surrounded by his men. And he felt as if he was currently proving her point.

He didn't have the time to acknowledge her victorious expression for long. The woman slipped effortlessly off the horse and he thought his aid would be purely formal. Instead the grip on his hand had been powerful, relying heavily on his body while resting her other hand on his shoulder.

Her hair brushed his cheek. The weight of her hand on his shoulder lingered there a moment longer even after she had stepped away. The woman had been with them for a long time now; she was present in the inner circle of the Inquisition and her acts spoke loudly. And yet, only then he became aware of her physicality. She was not an ideal, she was not an instrument of Andraste; she was reachable, palpable; forged from the most common flesh and bones, as he was; as anyone here, at Haven, was. He felt guilty for not knowing her name; he felt betrayed by how unexceptional and opened to mistakes she suddenly was; he felt content with how approachable she appeared; he felt… terrified by how cold the air seemed after she carried herself away.

"Varric, are you ok there?"

Her voice silenced his thoughts and he looked up as the last horses were making their way to the gates. The expression on the dwarf's face spoke volumes and Cullen knew that this was a story the writer would not end up telling. Positively livid, Varric glared in the most troubled way at the woman.

"Don't you dare, Trevelyan! You know I hate horses and you still pulled that stunt near Haven. Shortening my lifespan by a few years was unnecessary."

She folded her arms and shifted her weigh on her left hip.

"It's ok… I promise next time we'll look for a halla so you can ride closer to the ground."

He watched as the dwarf was uncomfortably trying to find his way off the saddle.

"You see, you're laughing but I'm concerned that you are wicked enough to actually do that."

She tilted her head and her voice betrayed amusement.

"Are you sure you don't need any help? We could ask the good Commander here to lend a hand."

Cullen had now approached the scene and stopped by her side, actually considering helping Varric, out of pity for the embarrassing situation in which he found himself.

"You two keep your distance. We'll see who'll laugh more when something knocks you to the ground. The taller you are the more painful the landing is."

While Varric finally gathered enough courage to pass his other foot above the saddle and let his body crawl down the solid horse, Cullen secretly hoped that he would land on his feet. Yet he couldn't help not responding to the coy glance the woman shared with him.

When Varric felt the safety of the ground under his feet he tugged his shirt with pride, his cocky attitude back in full force. The herald smiled his way and then looked up at Cassandra who was currently approaching them accompanied by a man Cullen did not recognize.

"Ah, master Dennett! Welcome to Haven." She turned to Cullen with the same serious expression he had seen the first evening they met. "Commander, this is the man who provided our fine horses. He has accepted to join the Inquisition at my insistence."

He nodded and let Cassandra take care of the conversation.

"We are pleased to count you among us."

The man let out a dry laughter. "How could I not? Your agent took my finest horses. I was not going to let them in the care of anyone with less experience."

"Once you settle, for any sort of resources you may need, make sure that the Commander is informed. He will provide everything that you need that is within our own capability."

"I understand. Lady Trevelyan, may I have a word with you? I will need some immediate assistance for a quick check on the horses. It was a long journey and I want to make sure they are in good condition."

"Of course." With a solemn gesture she left the group and allowed the horsemaster to follow her towards their stables.

He watched her confidently walk by the man's side, listening to whatever he was going to demand.

"My men have repeatedly tried to get at least a couple of horses from the man and she storms back to Haven not only with more than forty of these animals but with the horsemaster as well."

"She may not play by our rules but she gets things done. Can we really complain about that, Commander?"

"That is not what I meant…" he exhaled… "I was merely curious. Is she really that impressive… Cassandra? Outside Haven I mean... you've mentioned…" his voice trailed off remembering the words of appreciation the Seeker had shared with them after their first visit to the Hinterlands.

"Are you still having doubts? You've asked for horses, she delivered." Cassandra paused knowing that this was not the answer he was looking for. "I know of the incident in the village, Commander. And I understand why both you and Leliana have your doubts about the herald. But I have spent days in a row with the woman. I can't say that I fully trust her, but I fought by her side. It would be foolish to make her hostile. I've never seen a blade cutting deeper and swifter than hers. She has a difficult personality but I think we are lucky. She has been taking decisions where we failed to do so." She glanced at him to make sure he was aware of her insinuation. "After seeing her pushing her way out there, both on the field and through our problems... her abrasive attitude becomes more bearable, if not, complementary."

His eyes never left her figure while the Seeker shared her opinions. The woman was constantly nodding at the man and occasionally addressing both him and the blacksmith, who had joined them. Herritt grabbed the hoof of the horse near her and the animal responded violently at the sudden attempt. She was startled and rested her gloved hand on the neck of the horse, grabbing its face with the other. She must have whispered something for the animal calmed down and let the man have a look.

She returned her attention to the horsemaster but her right hand remained on the mane of the horse, continuing to pat it. It was an absent gesture and yet the animal remained docile and obedient under her touch.

"Maybe you're right, Seeker. Maybe we should ask her to join us during the meetings more often."

The woman seemed to have already forgotten what they were talking about and she took a moment to react.

"I am glad you finally see my point, Commander. We cannot afford to have doubts about the Herald anymore. It would be too late for that."

It could be. There was no denying that they were in need of a strong opinion; he was simply not convinced yet that the woman could provide the right one. At the very least, they would be able to understand her more.


End file.
